


Starry eyes and starry skies

by behzaintfunny



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Adorable, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 08:49:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11620104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/behzaintfunny/pseuds/behzaintfunny
Summary: Whoever said retirement was peaceful was a liar.





	Starry eyes and starry skies

Xabi unexpectedly wakes up, startled when he feels a weight shifting closer to him and a pair of familiar lips on his own. He falls into the kiss passively, positively surprised, kissing generously.

"Mm, why do you only ever kiss me when I'm sleeping?" he enquires after the kiss had already been broken.

"You and I, we know that's not true," Stevie dismisses nonchalantly, "Besides, I need you to wake up."

Xabi sighs, "Steven, for the love of all that's holy, please tell me you didn't just wake me up at 2am because you were in the mood."

The scouser chuckles endearingly before planting a kiss at the side of Xabier's neck, "What, had a nice sleep?"

Xabi swears he can still see distant shores and waves peacefully hitting the bronze, sun-kissed sand when he closes his eyes, "Very."

"Stop being grumpy. It's lame." Stevie challenges, "I suggest we get up, get you dressed in that red robe of yours and go outside."

Xabi's eyes open immediately as he looks at Steven pleadingly, hands wandering at the small of his back, "...or we can just chill in our underwear in bed? Or, even better, go back to sleep? You better be joking."

Stevie pouts, "Had some other plans. Maybe another time," he kisses the Basque in attempt to successfully convince him, "Come on, trust me."

Xabi groans.

Getting Xabi out of bed is a whole another level problematic. Xabi, lethargic and rather unwilling to co-operate, is not much of a help himself. It takes Stevie five minutes to have Xabi raise his hips and torso from the silky soft bedsheets so that he can pull the robe on him, and another ten to have him stand up. Plus some extra smooches there and there to make the man at least somewhat motivated. 'Baby steps', as Steven describes it. Stevie was willing to play by his partner's rules for as long as it meant he still had it his way. Gradually, they finally made their way downstairs, Xabi taking a stop by the kitchen sink to pour himself a glass of water. Stevie waits, patient as ever, before taking his husband's tender hand in his and leading the way outdoors. Stevie pulls the delicate curtains away with one arm, letting Xabi take the first step outside, before him. It was like that with everything and anything - Xabi first, first, first.

The Gerrard-Alonso garden isn't as big and impressive as one might suppose, actually rather small but has a home-like feel to it. Its corners covered in Xabi's favorite, sunset coloured roses, followed by Stevie's few square meters of strawberries and herbs, the grass freshly cut and soft under their bare feet. A goalpost on one side, a grill, some chairs and a table on another. It had rained the day before, and so mist hung in the air and situated itself in both mens lungs with every breath they took. The grass staining their feet with droplets off water and bits of dirt, the whole scenery bathed in the light of millions of stars displayed over their heads.

Xabi wishes he wore slippers.

Xabi's tiredness starts slowly developing into melancholy with each time his eyes settle on some leaf, some star, maybe the moon. Alas, he smiles. He fixes his grip on his companion's hand. Him and Steven worked so hard for this future, dreamed of it, imagined it every second of their lives but also tried to run away from it like the fools they used to be. Two idiots who didn't realize they were falling in love until they shared a kiss in front of millions of witnesses, two idiots who denied any mutual feelings for what seemed like a century, two idiots afraid to face what they desired most. Xabi remembers when him and Stevie shared rooms before those few matches away from England, recalls how often he found his brain forcing him to turn over to look at Stevie's sleeping form and how he always managed to find a spot on a wall so interesting it would eventually rule over his mind until he's fast asleep. With a sigh, he always turned away. A few times neared a hundred times and his lips still let out the pained sigh as his eyes settled on a wall. In his dreams, he had never turned his head away. In his midnight imagination, he could see Steven's chest arising and falling, he could see the tightness his eyes were shut with, he could examine the angle in which his lips were opened in. In reality, he always used to look the other way. These days, the dream is real. As authentic and substantial as he couldn't have even imagined in those nighttime fantasies. Stevie chuckles as he squeezes Xabi's hand,

"I love it too," you, I love you, he means, "Everything has changed, yet after all this time I still get those days when I feel like I'm twenty four again."

Xabi nods contendedly and looks down at the grass beneath his feet. Stevie settles for silence. It feels comforting in a way, being silent with Steven. It's so different from what they always were - loud, at each other's throats, seemingly everywhere at once. Time passed and Xabi had found himself becoming a bit of a loner, an introvert even. The comfort of their own home was all he needed - no trophies, no conquering the world, no reaching the top. He smiles to himself. The evident question is hanging in the air, Stevie unsure if he has the guts to ask, although the curiosity is eating him alive. The air is seemignly stuck in his lungs, he notices, he's unable to exhale. Xabi looks him in the eye, drowning himself in the mesmerising, ocean blue orbs glimmering with the light of the stars, and it truly feels like he's still young. Young, immortal and in love.

"Do you ever remember Istanbul?" Xabi queries, quietly and cautiously.

Ah, there it is.

Steven exhales, one big sigh coming out of him like it was hidden there for the last twelve years.

"Of course," he admits proudly, "It's one of those nights I could never forget, how could you even doubt that. Do you?"

Xabi has millions of responses in his head, ready to be spoken. Instead, with a sigh, he looks away and nods.

Funny how it's been twelve years and he's still the same idiot he used to be around Stevie.

"So what force brought me here at this hour and for what purpose, again?"

Stevie laughs, "Thought I could practise a shot with me left foot from the spot. Could use some company from me loved one, competition from me rival, advice from the pass master himself - you name it!"

Xabi looks him dead in the eye, "You're kidding me, no?"

"Oh, most certainly not!" the air is ringing with Stevie's heartfelt laughter as he re-enters the house only for Xabi to see him walking out with the football Jamie gifted them on their wedding day, "Well I didn't buy that goalpost for nothing, did I?"

He purses his lips, content with knowing the affect he has on Xabi. Xabi, whose insides are burning with both anger and adoration respectively.

"We both know I'm better, so why bother?" he provokes.

"Oh, fuck off, will ya?" Stevie grins as he places the ball on the grass with all due respect, "You'll never really know if you don't find out! And don't try and quote me them godlike statistics because those, honey, are complete bullshit."

Xabi smiles a crooked grin, "I swear you're doing this just to infuriate me."

"Maybe," Stevie shrugs, a smirk permanently painted on his face, "Maybe not." he passes the ball.

Xabi passes it back.

They shouldn't work this well after all those years spent apart, but they do.

"If I win," Xabi states, the ball back at his feet, "you do the dishes for a month. No excuses."

He slots the ball bottom left corner with ease. He looks back at Stevie, eyes innocent as ever, challenging.

It isn't left unnoticed how his husband is still only in boxers, either, unaffected by the chilly air. He's proudly radiating with warmth, one that comes from within.

Stevie nods vigorously, "Well we both know that's not gonna happen, so..."

They shoot in turns against an open goal. Xabi insists that it's way too easy that way, seemingly unheard by Stevie who places his fifth successive shot in the bottom right corner.

"Can you hear the crowd?" Stevie asks, quiet and reserved, "Can you hear your name sung by thousands of people devoted to loving you?"

"Sometimes," Xabi admits, "They never loved me that much anywhere but Liverpool."

Stevie smiles, "Well, of course they didn't."

And Xabi knows. Xabi knows this particular smile because Steven is not oblivious to the fact that he is Liverpool embodied, all its roars and cries pumping in his veins, all its passion and love hidden in his eyes. The Basque realizes that Liverpool loved him most, partially because his midfield partner loves him most. Red, Steven is so red. Liverpool is red. Sure, Munich was also red, but it was never the same. Madrid could never be red. Where there's the colour red, there's Steven. But Steven was obviously never meant to follow in his steps, anyway.

"Xabi's our midfield maestro," Stevie hums, eyes closed, waiting right next to Xabi's side for his turn, "and his passing is so delightful,"

Xabi goes for the risky shot in the top right corner, legs shaky, but still somewhat manages. He feels his heart drop. He looks up in the sky and swears he can still see the thousands faces looking at him fondly like he's their king, all of them dressed in red and all showing the same, familiar passion. He turns to look at Steven, whose eyes are still dreamily closed, a loving tenderness showing on his lips, face highlighted barely by moonlight and the silver glimmer of stars.

"Everybody wants to know," Xabi joins in, hardly audibly, yet clearly enough for Stevie's smile to widen.

"Alonso," Stevie's eyes open lazily only to settle on Xabi's own, brown hues. He cups his love's face with his hands admiringly, "Alonso."

Xabi suddenly feels so small under Steven's hands. So small--

Steven doesn't allow Xabi's mind to wander off elsewhere as he closes the already small gap between them and, with one swift movement, connects their lips. Their kiss is full of fondness, yearning but also calmness. Twelve years ago, under the moonlit sky of Istanbul, they would've always rushed in, craving the rapid waves of emotions and enjoying only what they allowed themselves to enjoy. Today, it might as well take up their whole night and they would not mind. Stevie kisses him with such ease, like he's already memorised the crevices on his lips a million times over and over, like it's his favorite thing to do. Xabi relishes the fact he can free his mind and let Stevie take care of him, as he often does. Their lips work together just as well as their feet used to do on the pitch. It should be at least somewhat surprising, yet it's clearly not.

Steven brushes his thumbs against Xabi's temples lovingly as Xabi's own hands fall further down and down until they settle on the very bottom of Steven's ribcage. With his right hand, he can feel his husband's steady, slow heartbeat constantly quickening whenever Xabi lets out any noise into the kiss. The balanced rhythm is still, up to date, his favorite ever noise. Not even Anfield could compare to that, not the fans when they won the World Cup, not anything. Xabi feels his whole body getting lighter, his heart quickening with compassion as he closes the remainings of private space between their bodies greedily, harshly even, Stevie's chest hitting his own as he gasps into the kiss. They break apart, only for the scouser to fall into Xabi's arms in an embrace, breathing shallow and lips swollen. They make their way up Xabi's neck, leaving feather light kisses all the way up to his jawline. Xabi holds him like he's the most precious thing the Earth has ever known.

Well, he is.

Steven laughs quietly, whispering into Xabi's ear, "Have it your way. I'll do the dishes."

"You don't say..." he replies adoringly, "So turns out I'm better than you, no?"

"Quit that or I'll bite," Steven responds half-jokingly, arms tightening around Xabier's torso, "We both know I let you win."

In the midnight light, Xabi thinks he might believe that. He inhales generously, admiring the scent of Steven's shampoo, aftershave and something intoxicating that just screams Stevie. 

The universe doesn't have to know that Xabi's only allowing this knowing it's what makes Stevie happy.

It doesn't have to know the way his heart swells whenever around Stevie, thinking about Stevie or remembering Stevie from his past.

It doesn't have to know how badly in love he is, neither how genuine his smile is right now, nor how he feels Steven's shoulder getting slightly wet right where his eyes are touching it.

"I love you so much," Stevie breathes, "It's going to be the end of me."

Xabi doesn't turn his head. He doesn't even want to.

The stars shall be their only witnesses.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not so sure what to think about this one but i've waited way too long to post it anyway. let's archive that shit! i hoped you enjoyed this dosage of the typical gerlonso istanbul mention fluff. just joking.  
> for real, thanks for having me.  
> apologies to steven gerrard and xabi alonso, my footballing heroes


End file.
